In Flanders Fields
by romulus lupin
Summary: On a road trip to France soon after the final battle, four friends come across a field of poppies interspersed with white crosses. Random plot bunny for Remembrance Day. In memory of Simon's Flower and FenrisWolf.


**In Flanders Fields**

**Standard Disclaimer**: Not mine, never was, never will be and never will make any money from this. The title and the poem in this story is by Lt. Col. John McCrae (1872-1918).

**Author's Notes: **Just a random plot bunny which refuses to let go. It is, in a way, a late Memorial Day (or Remembrance Day or Veteran's Day) piece which came to mind last Friday when I saw a CNN feature on Remembrance Day, which is November 11.

This piece is dedicated to the memory of Trish (Simon's Flower) and Brian McCrary (FenrisWolf), both of whom had gone on ahead of us.

They will be sorely missed ... but never forgotten.

***

"We're lost, aren't we?"

"Ya think?" The tone of voice was angry, sarcastic ... frustrated in the extreme. It was not a situation that Hermione Granger - brightest witch in a generation, boon companion of the Boy-Who-Won and Defeater of Mad Bella - often found herself in and it was irritating the hell out of her.

For the nth time this week, she wondered again at her sanity - or the loss of it - as she contemplated the current situation, and the motley crew she was sharing it with.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, she thought - take a break, get away from it all: the funerals for friends and acquaintances; the trips to the hospital wing of Hogwarts and St. Mungo's to visit other friends or acquaintances who were wounded or recovering from injuries or curses inflicted during the Final Battle and during the course of the last year ... and the clearing up and cleaning up of Hogwarts, the place where she and her companions had spent so much of their lives.

They **needed** this - no, she admitted silently to herself as she darted a glance to her right where Harry Potter was slouched, eyes closed as he leaned his head against the window of the car they'd hired in London - **Harry** needed this. It wasn't just the trials and tribulations of the past year ... it was the pains and heartaches of his whole **life** that he needed to get away from. He'd been growing increasingly despondent as the days passed ... after burying Tonks and Remus, after hugging a broken Dennis Creevey as they watched his brother being lowered into his final resting place ... after visiting Lavender and Parvati in St. Mungo's ... walking down the devastated Diagon Alley and staring at the ruins of shops where he'd spent happy moments: Florian Fortescue's still-boarded up ice cream parlour; the ruins of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes as well as Quality Quidditch Supplies and Olivander's ...

She almost slammed on the brakes when she felt a warm hand cover the hand she had on the stick shift - and immediately relaxed as she recognized Harry's warm touch. She glanced to her right and saw his emerald green eyes on her and heard his soft voice, "I trust you, Hermione. You've never steered me wrong, not once in seven years."

Hermione gave a tremulous smile at her best friend, and gripped his hand tightly for a brief moment before releasing it to downshift the car; she quickly turned her head forward to peer through the windshield and sigh softly as she considered the blurry landscape around them. It had been dark when they left the inn they'd stayed in overnight; Luna Lovegood had expressed a wish to be out and about early that day and they had indulged the young girl who, while an experienced traveller with her father on numerous expeditions to find some exotic magical creature or another, was experiencing 'muggle' touring for the first time.

She sighed softly to herself, once again questioning her sanity at asking this motley crew to join her on this 'break' - and in the next breath, thanking the stars that it was only the four of them in the car, on a road trip through the continent. She shuddered at the thought of having Ron and Ginny with them - she didn't know how long she could withstand Ronald's constant whinging and growling stomach ... neither could she imagine Ginny joining them in this tiny, confined, claustrophobic box on wheels, constantly touching Harry 'affectionately' as she tried to bring their relationship back to 'the way they were' ...

Not that this crew were that much better, she grouched to herself. She had to question - once again - exactly where her brain had gone, seven - no, eight - days ago when she'd proposed this muggle style road trip to the three others with her.

It wasn't until they were on the road that she realized the glaring flaw in her brainwave ... she was the only 'real' muggle in the vehicle and as such, much of the planning, and thinking, and talking had fallen on her shoulders. She narrowed her eyes as she glared at the windshield wipers that rhytmically swept the moisture from the drizzle they were driving through as she thought about her companions.

Harry was muggle raised, of course but his experience of road trips was virtually non-existent. He'd never been on an extended trip with his 'loving' relatives (and Hermione had to bite down on her lip to stop from snarling at the thought of the Dursleys) and knew nothing about hotels or inns, about exchange rates or changing tires ... and she bit down on her lip as she remembered watching him as he stared at the squiggly lines of the road map on his lap.

She almost expected him to pull out his wand, tap it and proclaim, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" before she snatched it out of his hand to give them an impromptu lesson on muggle maps and reading them.

Neville Longbottom was equally as hopeless on this trip. True, he'd travelled some with his grandmother, the indomitable Dame Augusta Longbottom - but that had been exclusively by magical means (portkey or side-along apparition) and they'd never ventured far from the magical towns or streets where they'd visited. True, he'd been a useful guide when they'd ventured to Paris' magical areas but outside those, he'd been as clueless as Harry and Luna had been.

Once again she almost slammed on the brakes when a hand touched her shoulder, and let loose the breath she'd been holding in when she realized that it was Luna Lovegood's hand on her shoulder. Glancing up at the rearview mirror, she saw the young girl's protuberant blue eyes focused on hers, seemingly for once without their characteristic other-worldliness as their eyes met.

"It'll be all right, Hermione ... Harry's right. We trust you to lead us ... where you go, we'll follow."

She smiled gratefully at the small witch and turned back to her driving. Luna hadn't finished speaking, however, as her 'normal' (for Luna) dreamy voice intoned, "As long as you don't let Harry or Neville order food for us ... or ask for directions."

"Oi!" an outraged Neville spoke up from his slouched position beside Luna in the backseat, quickly followed by Harry's equally outraged voice saying, "I resemble that remark!"

A brief moment of silence and the small car was filled with the sounds of hilarity - Luna's musical laugh; Neville's mirthful roar; Hermione's giggling ... and Harry's moan of pain as he braced himself for the teasing that was sure to follow - as it had been, off and on, for the past few days.

It was too much to hold off on, however, and Hermione's peal of laughter broke loose as she remembered Harry trying to order boeuf bourguignon in the small bistro they'd stopped in on the second day - pronouncing the words as he read them and eliciting a raised eyebrow and a bitten down lip from the lovely French lass taking their order.

"Oi!" Harry said from beside her. "At least I didn't ask for directions from that old lady! I thought she was gonna pull Neville into the bushes when he asked ..."

For a brief moment, the car coasted along on its own power ... thankfully, it was a straight road and there were no other vehicles out at this hour as Hermione had to let go of the steering wheel when she clutched her stomach as a belly laugh escaped her ... Luna, bless her, had been able to capture the astonished yet utterly delighted look on the old crone's face as Neville addressed her with casual aplomb, "_Voulez vous coucher avec moi, mam'selle?_"

It had taken a few seconds for her brain to reboot from Neville's audacious question - time enough for the old crone to have jumped the young man's shocked and frozen body, her wrinkled but still strong arms and legs wrapping around him tightly as she kissed him on both cheeks, excitedly jabbering in French about her 'Tommy' coming back for her. She and Harry had tried to pry the old woman off the staggering Neville to no avail; neither did her loud explanations that Neville simply did not understand what he was saying get through the old woman's fogged over happiness or her repeated attempts to snog the terrified young man ...

Luckily for all of them, the town square was deserted at that hour - near lunch time, it was - Luna had quickly cast a Confundus at the old woman who quickly let go of Neville and simply stood there looking confused as they beat a hasty retreat ...

Neville's plaintive voice broke through the merriment in the car: "How was I to know that Seamus and Dean were taking the piss?"

The laughter was cut off as if a guillotine had fallen; their minds going to the lean, dark wizard who was still in St. Mungo's recovering from the fetid bite of Fenris Greyback - and his Irish sidekick, swathed in bandages from head to toe like a mummy with only his sandy hair sticking out, a near-victim of a Flame Curse from some unnamed Death Eater. It was only a well-aimed Reducto from Susan Bones which stopped the Death Eater from finishing Seamus off ...

"Oh look! The sun is out!" Luna's musical voice broke them from their morbid contemplations and they smiled - they'd broken out of the drizzle that had enveloped them for the past half-hour or so and they could see the rolling fields all around them. Their moods lifted and they sat back in companionable silence, happy to be together without a care in the world ... able, for once, to act as they were and should be - teens with their lives stretching out ahead of them, happy to be able to leave their burdens and responsibilities for a few days ...

Harry's head whipped around as they passed a road sign; Hermione had been too focused on the road ahead of them to have noticed it and neither Luna or Neville realized what it was they'd passed. Harry's puzzled voice broke Hermione's concentration on the road - "What kind of name is 'Wipers'?" Before she could say anything, Luna's awed voice made her shift her attention to the side of the road - "Ohhh! Poppies!"

Harry's question and Luna's exclamation combined with the sight of a seemingly endless field of red insterspersed with white lines clicked together in Hermione's mind - and for the briefest of moments, she felt an urgent need to slam her foot down on the car's accelerator and get them out of the place ... Hell, she thought frantically, if they were in the Weasley's Ford Anglia or Sirius' motorbike, she'd have put pedal to metal and rocketed them out of there ...

Realization and common sense kicked in, however, and she carefully lifted her foot from the gas even as her hand downshifted once again, allowing the car to slow down and coast smoothly to a stop by the side of the road where there was nothing to see on both sides but seemingly endless fields of red flowers interspersed with white crosses.

As the car rolled to a stop, a worried Harry glanced at his best friend, wondering at the frown creasing her forehead; glancing at the back seat, he blinked when he saw Luna sitting back with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and steadily - much as he would when he practiced the meditation techniques associated with Occlumency. He realized that Neville was just as clueless as he was, looking worriedly from Luna beside him to Hermione in front of him and switching his concerned gaze to Harry.

"Hermione?" Harry asked again and was about to poke her in the ribs when she spoke softly, almost reverently, "We're in Ypres, Harry."

"What's 'wipers', Hermione?" Neville asked as he looked around them, wondering why any town would be named such, as well as what it was that would have evoked such a reaction from the normally calm and collected Hermione - as well as having such a solemn effect on the usually bouncing Luna. He glanced at a frowning Harry who looked to be chasing after some errant memory or something ... and almost jumped in his seat as Hermione and Luna silently opened their car doors and stepped out of the car.

He scrambled out after them, standing beside the two silent witches as Harry also stepped up beside them. Neville glanced down and recognized the flowers as poppies ... but poppies of a kind that he had never seen before. They were red - not that surprising to him, master of Herbology that he was, but in the center of each flower was what looked like a white cross. Frowning, he glanced around him once again - and realized that the field of red poppies was seemingly interspersed with row upon row of white crosses ...

Neville felt a chill flow down his spine as he realized what he was looking at ... his mind leaping back to the cemetery at Hogwarts that he had been too far too many times to count ... several times to accompany the burial of a friend or an acquaintance, other times to just simply stand among the tombstones and give thanks that he was on _this _side of the earth ...

"There is a legend," Luna's ethereal voice drifted to his ears, "that in places where battles were fought, these white flowers all turned red ... and in the center of each flower was a white cross ..."

Neville frowned, some tiny detail niggling at his mind, calling for his attention as he vaguely heard Harry's voice calling Hermione's name. He watched as Hermione took a deep breath which she exhaled as Harry placed an arm around her waist, and heard Hermione's accustomed 'lecture' mode even as he blinked as her voice had seemingly taken on Luna's ethereal quality: "We're at Flanders, near Ypres, Harry ... it's where some of the biggest battles of the First World War was fought ... in a series of battles from July to November 1917, it is estimated that almost 600,000 men on both sides died around here ..."

Neville would never be able to remember how he found himself wrapped around Luna; the young blonde was suddenly in his arms, her face pressed into his chest even as he felt the tears soaking through his shirt. All he could remember afterwards was the horror as he realized the 'detail' that he'd been missing ... that there were far, far more gravestones here than there was at Hogwarts ... he felt himself swallowing, hard, as Hermione explained that over half a million men had died in this place over a period of a few months ...

He felt himself shaking and thought for a moment that it was Luna, only to realize that it was he who was trembling ... he just couldn't imagine it - half a million dead, and all for what? What had they died for, those men? What had they fought for? From a seeming distance he heard Hermione's voice explaining that over half of those who'd died here were from the British Empire and he felt a surge of relief that he was born magical and not a muggle ...

Only to shake his head at the thought - sure, the muggles had fought and died in a war here almost eighty years ago ... but he too had just fought a war where people - including friends - had died. His family had also been ravaged by the war as he remembered his parents, still in confinement in St. Mungo's Long Term Care Ward ... and he glanced at Harry, who had now enveloped Hermione in a hug, and remembered that _his_ parents had also been killed in that self-same war ... along with _their_ friends and families ...

And all for what?

He heard a low cough from Harry and looked up to see the Boy-Who-Lived standing straight and tall, his best friend with her head resting on his shoulder and he blinked in surprise as he heard Harry's voice intoning:

_In Flanders fields the poppies blow_  
_Between the crosses, row on row_,  
_That mark our place; and in the sky_  
_The larks, still bravely singing, fly_  
_Scarce heard amid the guns below_.

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Hermione's melodious voice, still carrying within it Luna's ethereal tonality, spoke up:

_We are the Dead. Short days ago_  
_We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow_,  
_Loved, and were loved, and now we lie_  
_In Flanders fields_.

He nearly jumped when he felt Luna's fingers ghost carefully across his face and realized, with a start, that tears had been falling down his cheeks ... and he looked down to see a compassionate look in the younger girl's eyes even as tears also fell down her face. Unbidden, a parade of images started marching across his mind's eye - Cedric Diggory, Amelia Bones, Albus Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Professor Charity Burbage, Colin Creevey...

His head snapped up when he realized that Harry and Hermione were speaking together, Harry's deeper voice blending in with Hermione's contralto:

_Take up our quarrel with the foe_:  
_To you from failing hands we throw_  
_The torch; be yours to hold it high_.

_If ye break faith with us who die_  
_We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_  
_In Flanders fields_.

For a long, long moment, silence enveloped the four friends. There was no need for words to be said at the moment, although Neville's curiosity was aroused - how did Harry and Hermione know that poem? In the back of his mind, a random memory tickled ... was it his grandmother or his Great Uncle Algie that he heard declaiming the same words, a long time ago when he was still young ... or was it a memory of his gran and Great Uncle Algie leaving the house one day, poppies pinned to their clothes ...

He shook his head as he realized that Luna was tugging on his hand; mechanically, he followed her and found himself standing beside Harry, holding the latter's hand tightly in his - and knowing that Luna was beside Hermione, also holding her hand.

Without conscious thought, the four of them bowed their heads in seeming prayer - seemingly unaware that their thoughts had gone to those who had gone before them. The silence was broken by Luna's voice, ephemereal as a fairy as she intoned,

_Take up our quarrel with the foe_:  
_To you from failing hands we throw_  
_The torch; be yours to hold it high_.

And he found himself whispering, along with his three friends, the same words:

_If ye break faith with us who die_  
_We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_  
_In Flanders fields_.

Another moment of silence until this was broken by Harry's rough voice, "Time to go home, I think. We have work to do."

With silent nods, the four friends went back to their car - only to pause as they were about to step in. A final look around them before their eyes met each others; a brief nod of understanding and they stepped into the vehicle, a single thought in their minds:

_We will not forget._

End


End file.
